


Blood's Thicker Than Water

by CommanderMerone



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Blood, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderMerone/pseuds/CommanderMerone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A villain targeting your family, only agreeing to let up once you betray a close friend, and you, with your skills geared towards killing. It’s just like the movies, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood's Thicker Than Water

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where Michael was also tasked with killing one of the trio, which probably counts mainly as an AU of The Time's Come?

Sometimes you like to imagine yourself as a hitman.  
  
It would fit, right? You wear enough suits, your hair’s reminiscent of it… It’s a story worthy of the movies, and there’d actually be a place for your almost unnatural talent for killing people! _You fucking sociopath._

So you imagine. You’re a hitman, and Devin’s paying you(in the safety of your family) to kill a rat. As if Franklin could really be a rat, right? …Right? But, Devin’s already said that he made the same offer to Franklin, and he didn’t refuse. Oh look, you can spin that as yet another reference to some kind of mob movie. You might as well get him before he gets you, so you get him to meet you out near the boonies(a.k.a. Blaine County, a.k.a. Jesus **Christ** this is the worst place to be). If he’d been able to make the first move, he might’ve picked the place.  
  
You have to beat him to every punch.  
  
He’s a little uncomfortable to see you, especially so soon after the heist, but smiles warmly enough upon seeing you. Might as well pretend you’re still friends before things go down, right? Things go well enough at first, to be honest. You find out that Tracey’s gotten into college, and while you can’t help appreciating how happy F is for you, the news only reminds you of what you have to do. After all, blood’s thicker than water, right? So, the atmosphere gets tense.  
  
The kid picks up on it, but it isn’t helped by you pulling the gun too early. He’s already running towards the Bagger, helmet at the ready. Realizing that you’d be wasting your time trying to go against him at **driving** , you stand your ground, take a deep breath…and focus. Your aim’s better when you’re not in a moving vehicle anyway.  
  
You manage to get two shots off before the kid’s skill gets him out of there. One pops the back tire… one goes through the kid. Somewhere. Where, you can’t exactly tell, but it makes it easy for you to catch up to him as he tumbles off due to the force of the crash. Apparently even he can’t keep a bike steady with a popped tire for long. Once he stops, he barely manages to pull off the helmet that kept his face from coating the pavement, seeming to have trouble breathing. It only adds to your mixed feelings, but you try to fall back on the movie ideal. A hitman wouldn’t give a damn about who he killed… well, unless this was one of those movies where the target made him start questioning his orders, eventually leading him to—  
  
Yeah…that sort of thing’s reserved for the main characters.  
  
So you immediately pull your gun on him, to which he responds by drawing his own. He doesn’t even manage to get off the ground when he tries it, though that’s not what you’re concerned with.He was going to kill you! There’s the proof! Incensed, you start railing at him, not caring about the growing spot of red on his shirt.  
  
"If you never showed up—" If I never got attached. "I would’ve been fine!" Or just dying slowly from alcohol poisoning by the pool. "My family, my fucking family…" The one I wished you were a part of. "They would’ve been safe!"  
  
You can see the hurt register in his eyes, though it wasn’t like he really could’ve hidden it from you. The kid never was good at lying. That should probably be relevant to something, but you can’t possibly figure out what. You just wish he’d stop focusing the look on you, stop being so goddamn **betrayed** , like he couldn’t believe this was happening or something.  
  
"Stop fucking…don’t look at me like that. You should’ve known this was coming when you agreed to kill me for fucking Devin Weston!"  
  
This isn’t a movie, but damned if the kid’s face didn’t show an Oscar-worthy mix of emotions. It seemed like hurt just mixed in with pain(far too much for you to even think of him having to deal with), betrayal, and… anger? Where was that all before? He should’ve been angry before, dammit! And then he tries to speak.  
  
"You’re…you’re fucking kidding me, right?"  
  
You manage to look surprised, using that expression to mask the concern that flares up when he starts to cough up blood, and God does it hurt you more than you thought. You’re both stuck with mixed emotions, confusion featuring prominently on your faces, and you’re far too stubborn to attempt thinking things through at the moment.  
  
Is it because the alternative would be admitting that you made a mistake? A huge fucking mistake that you definitely wouldn’t be able to fix? Oh, of course not.  
  
That would require having a reaction besides anger and self loathing. And of course…  
  
You’re pissed. At yourself, at the kid, at fucking Devin Weston and his goddamn Merryweather goons—hell, you’re even mad at Trevor now! The kid won’t take the shot, and you’re pretty sure he isn’t even trying to take the shot. It’s so easy, but it seems like he’s just pulled the gun on you out of reflex, unlike Trevor. You can still hear the anger when he called you a “reptilian motherfucker”, and part of you wishes you could see that same sort of anger in the kid’s eyes.  
  
Fucking North Yankton, fucking **memories** coming back at the worst time.  
  
"Take the fucking shot!" God, you half wish you sounded as professional as you looked, but the words come out akin to a strangled plea. And you can see it: He never intended on taking the shot in the first place. You hate it, you fucking hate it. Why won’t he take the fucking shot?! If Devin was right, and he told the kid to come clip you, then why didn’t he? Why’d he just run instead? When he starts laughing, or wheezing, you realize you’ve been saying this out loud.

"Tell me **why**. You don’t get **shit** outta keepin’ me alive! I mean, **fuck**! Look where it got you!” You wave the gun in your frustration, though he barely flinches, his eyes already glazing over.  
  
His gun lowers—probably due to a mix of both pain and unwillingness to shoot you—as he tries to laugh again. “Listening to…Devin?.” He just shakes his head to finish his sentence, having trouble getting the words. God **dammit** , you can tell he’s not saying everything he wants to, and not just because he physically can’t.  
  
Well, you feel like a piece of shit. Again. Your anger refocuses, and although a lot more of it is directed at Devin, you make damn sure to leave the lion’s share for yourself. This kid—no, Franklin—managed to do what you couldn’t, put up with all your shit… and you end up burning him like everyone else. When he coughs again, the frothy blood that comes up makes you feel like you’ve been shot in the chest.  
  
When did you go from protecting him to this?  
  
He doesn’t have much time left. You both know it, and of fucking **course** you’d end up taking him to a place the paramedics can’t get to in time. Hell, that’s what makes a good hit! _You fucking piece of shit, this isn’t some movie. You’re a goddamn **retired** stick-up man that cuts and runs every time you—or was it your family?—get threatened. It’s different, yet still the same. Brad, no one gave a fuck about Brad. You definitely didn’t. But Franklin, on the other hand…_  
  
 _He might as well have been your son._ And this is why you’re on your knees next to him, your gun long since forgotten in your rush to check on him. Your pointless, well-intentioned but too late, rush.  
  
"Just…just get Chop—" The fucking dog? He wants you to get Chop what? What does he want you to do? Barely holding yourself back from shaking him(as if that’ll help his situation), you beg him to finish what he’s saying, then you realize he didn’t exactly stop for dramatic effect. The kid keeps trying to finish his sentence, but the words are coming out as gurgling—He’s drowning.  
  
Why didn’t you just shoot him in the head?  
  
"Jesus, kid, I’m so fucking sorry."  
The gun drops from his hand.  
"F…F, don’t go yet."  
Now you actually are shaking him, though he obviously doesn’t respond, his eyes fully glazed over. At this point you’re screaming your voice ragged, pretty much begging him to come back, to get mad at you, to just say something and not be dead _why is he dead you fucked up so terribly_.  
" ** _Franklin!_** "  
  
But…he’s already gone. You could’ve at least called him by name before this, but it’s too late now. You know, it was all you could wrap your slothful lips around or something. The self-loathing threatens to boil over, but you’re keeping it in reserve. You have a much better target for your anger right now, but you need to attempt giving Franklin a somewhat proper burial.  
  
As you drive off, Franklin sitting alongside you for some morbid facsimile of your old hangouts, you realize the saying was all wrong. _The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb._ You can’t help but glance at the gun longer than usual, a wry grin cracking at yet another reminder that you fucked up.

Maybe you are a main character, if a shitty one.


End file.
